Marriage
by ICanStopAnytime
Summary: Sayid watches warily as Claire begins an unexpected relationship with Sawyer, but he has another more important concern: maintaining his marriage with Nadia. Post-rescue, off island, A/U.
1. Chapter 1

Dear Readers:

This is an old story I wrote years ago. I wrote it, if I recall correctly, after the second season, before we knew how Lost ended, so it is basically a post-rescue, A/U in which most of the main cast members have made it off island. This novelette was originally the second part of a two-part novel called "Courtship," which I recently had to remove from the archive because I was salvaging parts, as I sometimes do, for my "real life" fiction. As I didn't touch the second half, however, I'm currently re-editing and re-posting it.

** You can find my "real life" novels online at Amazon. I write under the penname **MOLLY TAGGART**. Current titles include **Roots that Clutch, Off Target, and Out of Rhythm,** but there are more to come. **

**MARRIAGE**

**"The minute I heard my first love story  
I started looking for you,  
not knowing  
how blind that I was.  
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere  
They're in each other all along." **

_**- Rumi, 13th century Sufi poet.**_

**Chapter One**

Sayid sometimes wondered what his life would have been like if Shannon had lived, if they had both been rescued from that island. He would still have sought out Nadia, if only to ask for her forgiveness, but he would not have courted her. He had vowed never to leave Shannon, and he could not think of himself dishonoring such a vow. He supposed he would eventually have married her.

And yet, when he thought of it, he could not envision their life together outside of the island. How would Shannon, for instance, have reacted to his return to the religion of his childhood? After the island, he had cloaked himself in Islam like a comforting old blanket, and he was surprised to find it brought him the peace he had surrendered all hope of experiencing. Shannon certainly would not have converted, though she may have tolerated his own private practice; but there would have been a part of his life he could not share with her, a community he was tied to from which she was cut off.

Then again, he thought, would he have ever come back to Islam if Shannon had not been shot before his eyes, if the last salve for his conscience had not been ripped violently from him, leaving his soul naked before Allah? Probably not. He would have paid occasional lip service to the faith of his fathers, and he would have prayed from time to time. But he would not often have attended a mosque; he would not have bowed at every dawn, at every mid-day, at every late afternoon, at every sunset, and at every night fall; he would not have studied the Koran by lamplight on those nights he could not sleep. He would have been a different man. Not a bad man, but a different man.

Sayid shrugged to himself. He was sitting in the garage—poor Nadia had not been able to park her car in there since they had wed—tinkering with bits and pieces of radios that lay strewn about on a workbench. It was not for his profession; he just liked to take things apart. He enjoyed the pleasure of making things work once more, delighting in the knowledge that whatever is broken down can always be built up.

He heard the door to the house open and felt Nadia draw up behind him. When the warmth of her arms surrounded his shoulders, he put down the radio and the screwdriver he held. He placed a hand on each of her arms, and he leaned back against her. She bent to kiss the top of his head. "Sayid," she said, "it's getting late. I do not know how much longer I can stay awake."

"It is not yet 8:30," he said.

"It's 9:45."

He let go of one of her arms and reached for the watch he had laid on the table. She was right. The time had slipped away from him again.

"You do not have to wait up for me, Nadia," he said.

She leaned in and kissed his neck; she knew how much he loved to have her tease that precise spot. "Must I be blunt, Sayid?"

"I see," he replied, turning to sweep her into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and their lips joined in a deep kiss. When they drew apart, he asked, "Then you are feeling better? I had thought you were still unwell."

"No, I am well," she said, stroking his cheek. "Though I have discovered the cause of my illness."

"And what is that?" he asked, beginning to trail kisses from her cheek to her shoulder.

"I'm pregnant."

For a while he just kept kissing her. At length, however, her words seemed to penetrate the fog of desire that had fallen upon his mind, and his lips froze on their way back up to her cheek, just at the hollow of her neck. He drew away. "You are…you are…what?"

"Pregnant."

"I thought…You had said…I thought you could not…"

"I thought so too. Apparently, I was mistaken."

"Oh." His hands fell away from her hips. She had to draw her arms tighter around him to remain steady.

"Oh?" she repeated. "Is that all you have to say? Are you upset?"

"No, Nadia, no. Certainly not." And now his arms surrounded her again, drawing her close. "I am only…surprised."

It was but three days ago that, for the first time, his stepson Sigh had called him "Dad." The boy had not even seemed to notice the shift; the word had just begun tripping naturally from his tongue. But the change had struck Sayid powerfully. He was just now beginning to feel like a father to Sigh, and here his wife was telling him that he was now also to be blessed with a child of his own—_their_ child.

He kissed her softly. His left hand drifted from her hip to her belly. "How far along?"

"Five weeks."

"Boy or girl?"

She laughed. "How would I know, Sayid?"

"I would like a little girl," he said, "with her mother's eyes and her mother's courage." He bent down to kiss her stomach. "But I would settle for a boy," he concluded.

Nadia buried her fingers in his hair and drew his face back to hers, demanding his mouth. When his hand strayed to cup her breast, she broke the kiss and whispered, "Let's go to bed."

He lifted her from his lap and took her hand. He followed as she led him back to the door, away from the strewn remnants of fractured radios, through the living room, up the stairs, and past Sigh's bedroom to their own. They heard the child stirring in his room and paused in the doorway for a moment until he had quieted. They passed through the entrance, and Sayid quietly closed the door behind them.

Tonight both were content to unite in relative silence, their motions unhurried, their usual passions calmed by tenderness. Later, when she lay spooned in his embrace, he spoke. "I love you, Nadia," he said quietly. He kissed the back of her neck and murmured, "Thank you for giving yourself to me…for giving me a stepson…and now, for giving me another child."

She rolled over to face him and wound her arms around him, laying her head gently upon his chest. "I love you, too, Sayid. Not as a child loves…not anymore. I never knew that I could love you quite like this."

They fell asleep like that, wrapped together in a peaceful embrace, dreaming no more of the past but only of the future.

Those pleasant dreams did not last long for Nadia, however. Within a week, the nightmare had returned—the one she had dreamed almost nightly before Sayid had returned to her—the one in which she was being tortured for the first time by the Republican Guard. She had dreamed the nightmare only twice since their marriage, and she had awoken in a cold but silent sweat the first time. She had told him nothing.

The second time, however, he had shaken her awake from a fit of screaming, and he would not relent until she had told him the subject of her terror. She saw the guilt drown the warmth of his eyes as he recalled his own part in similar past sins, and she regretted telling him.

Tonight, therefore, when she awoke with a gasp and found him still asleep, she did not rouse him. She slipped quietly from the bed and drew a robe tightly around herself. The weather was warm, but still she shivered as she walked out onto the balcony that adjoined the master bedroom. She sat in a plastic chair, drew her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them. Tonight, the dream had been different. Tonight, the blood had poured not from her feet or her hands, but from her womb. She felt the tears wet her cheeks, but she would not allow herself to sob.

She heard the door slide open and closed and listened to the pat of her husband's bare feet on the cement. He sat in the chair next to her. The outside light was off, and she hoped he could not see her tears in the light of the moon.

He must not have, for there was only a casual concern in his voice when he asked, "Are you having trouble sleeping?"

She thought she could not reply without sounding choked, and so she only nodded. He thought she saw him smile, but she could not tell for sure.

"I can help you with that," he said softly, and she knew from his tone what he was suggesting, but as he stood and walked near to bend to kiss her, he saw the tears on her cheeks. He halted halfway to her lips. "Nadia, whatever is the matter?"

She almost said, "Nothing," and then she thought how foolish such a denial would be. Sayid was her husband. She was not afraid of baring her soul to him; she had always been direct, as had he. If she hesitated now, it was only because she did not want to see the guilt rise again to mar his beautiful features. So she said only, "I am worried about the baby." That much was true, and it was more important than the dream.

He drew her from the chair and sat in it himself, pulling her down to cradle her on his lap. She rested her head on his shoulder against his neck. His strong fingers tenderly wiped the tears from her cheek. "Why are you worried?" he asked quietly.

"Because…I am not a young woman anymore, and this was such a surprise, such a blessing. If we lose this child, there may never be another."

He drew her close. He did not know what to say to her. Nothing he said would ease her worries, whether they were well founded or not. So rather than attempt to dismiss her concerns or assure her of what she could not effortlessly hope, he merely asked, "What can I do?" _Doing_, after all, was what he did best.

He did not know what task she might suggest to him, but he was prepared for any effort. He had not anticipated her simple response: "Make love to me."

He did not ask, "Are you sure?" He did not ask, "How will that help?" He asked only, "How would you like me to make love to you?"

As he guided her back into their bedroom, she told him what she desired, and his careful ministrations drove the dream from her mind.

Afterward, when they lay intertwined with one another, she asked him, "Tell me about the people on the island."

"The people on the island? Why?"

"Because I love to hear your voice. And in order to get you to talk, I know I must give you a topic."

He lazily stroked her side. "Which of them would you like me to talk about?"

"Start with the good-looking blonde."

"Claire? I have told you everything about her." Claire had been one of the few to offer Sayid consolation and understanding after Shannon's death. She still continued to maintain her friendship with him by writing letters from Australia and calling from time to time.

"No," Nadia said, snuggling a little closer to her. "The _man_."

"Charlie?" he asked in disbelief. No doubt there were many women who found Charlie attractive. Claire herself had striven to be one of them, but at length she had reluctantly told the musician she wanted nothing more than friendship, and she was currently enjoying living unencumbered by any romantic relationship. But Sayid did not think Charlie—wispy, chatty Charlie—was the kind of man his wife would find attractive.

Nadia laughed and caught his hand, drawing his arm around her waist. "No, the other one with the sexy southern drawl."

"Sawyer?"

"Yes, Sawyer."

He drew her possessively closer, and she snuggled her back against his stomach. "I am not sure, Nadia, that I quite like the idea of you using the words sexy and Sawyer in the same breath. Is it your opinion that Sawyer is good-looking?"

"Not an opinion, really. It's merely an observation of fact."

"Hmmmm…." he murmured. "Sawyer was a con man before the island. Of course, we were _all_ something before the island. And we were all something else when we left. I am rather surprised he came to our wedding reception."

"You did not get along?" she asked. "Why?"

_Because I tortured him_, he thought. "We are very different men. But still he came to the reception. He has no family, no friends in this world. I think the people on the island were the closest he ever got to family. Maybe that is why he came."

"He remained rather aloof," Nadia observed. "Although he did talk quite a bit to Claire, until Charlie drew her off. And he asked your friend—Jack, was it?—about a woman."

"Kate. She is the fugitive Jack married in prison. Sawyer fancied her too."

"You really did encounter an interesting array of people on that island."

"Yes," he said, "and they all played a part in changing me."

"Especially Shannon," she said quietly. They didn't talk about Shannon much. Nadia had asked many questions when they were first courting, and there had been that moment when she had discovered the photograph, but she had not mentioned Shannon since then. Nor did Sayid explicitly mention Bashar, though Nadia's first husband was inevitably present in day to day conversation because of his son Sigh.

"Yes," he replied finally. "She opened my heart to the possibility of love when I had closed it off to the world. She regarded herself as worthless. Loving her made me understand how you could care for me even when I was nothing in my own eyes. It made me realize that there is a time to feel and be moved by the wounds of guilt, but also time to press on."

"Do you miss her?" Nadia asked.

Sayid was surprised by the question. He wondered if she was jealous of what little time he had spent with Shannon, in the same childish way that he was a little jealous—however much he scolded himself for the foolishness—of the years she had been with her husband Bashar, before the man had died, leaving her a single mother.

"Yes," he said. "Sometimes. Do you miss Bashar?"

"Yes. Sometimes."

It did not seem possible to draw her any closer against himself, but he did. Sayid was a reserved man, but one of things that made his marriage to Nadia feel so right was that he was not reserved with her. He did not fear speaking candidly to her; he knew she was not the kind of woman to seek offense or to play games. If he accidentally injured her, she would not make him guess the cause of her pain—she would tell him directly, and she would give him a chance to mend the situation. He therefore did not fear telling her anything. "I feel guilty sometimes, Nadia."

"For what?"

"When I think that it is only because Shannon died that I am here with you."

She didn't say anything. She just took his hand and laced her fingers through his.

"I did love her. And losing her in that violent way…it tore at my heart; it broke my spirit for a time. But, if she had not died…you would not be in my bed tonight." His hand stole down to gently caress her naked belly. "My child would not be growing in your womb."

"You would have married her," she said simply.

"Yes."

"I know the guilt you feel, Sayid. I feel it too when I think of Bashar, when I think that if he had lived, you and I would not have had this…this marriage that we have. It is not that I was not happy with Bashar."

"I would have been happy with Shannon. But it would not have been like this. You were _meant_ for me, Nadia. I was _meant_ to end up here, with you in my arms. But the journey…it had its sorrows and its joys. The sorrows pierce deeper."

"Allah cannot forge steel except with fire."

He considered this quietly for a time. Then he kissed her shoulder softly. "You feel it too?" he asked. "How unique this union is?"

"Yes," she whispered.

For a while they were quiet. He stroked her arms gently, then her side, her hips, the top of her legs. He pressed his lips against her ear, and his voice was low, the way she liked to hear it. "Nadia," he said, "I want you again."

She turned eagerly to him. Though their conversation had not soothed her into sleep, this second round of lovemaking did, and when at last she drifted off with her head against his chest, the nightmare did not return.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Nadia made it to her second trimester without event, and she felt better now that the riskiest part of the pregnancy had passed. Sayid also felt better, not just because she seemed more hopeful, but also because the nausea and the exhaustion seemed to have passed, leaving her far more receptive to his advances. It had been almost ten days since they had made love. Not that he was counting.

Sayid had just said his mid-day prayer on the floor of his office and was placing his prayer mat back under the desk when he noticed his supervisor staring at him from the door.

"How often do you people have to do that?" Hank Thompson asked in his slow drawl. Sayid's boss was a transplant from southern Virginia, just north of the Carolina border. He sounded out of place in Irvine.

"We people do it five times a day," replied Sayid. He wasn't offended. When he had first interviewed with Hank, he had thought the man to be something of a redneck, and he had been quite surprised when he had received the job offer, but it hadn't taken Sayid long to realize that it was only his own prejudice that had led him to believe Hank was ignorant and narrow. Well, prejudice coupled with semantics and considerable stylistic differences. Now he rather liked the man.

"Whew…" Hank said. "And I thought going from being Baptist to being Catholic was tough." He had converted to Catholicism at the request of his wife, whom he had married four months ago. "Anyhoo, there's a woman looking for 'ya."

"My wife?"

"I don't think so," he said. "She's real pretty."

"Well," said Sayid, smiling at the clearly unintentional insult, "so is my wife."

"Oh, I'm sure she is, but you said she's Iraqi too. This girl's as white as they come. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and everything. Cute English accent."

Sayid looked puzzled. "You mean Australian?"

"Mayhaps."

"Where is she?"

"In the conference room," his boss replied. "You takin' a late lunch with her?"

"_Perhaps_."

"Take as long as you want. Just be back by three. The big boss is calling a _team meeting_." The last two words he said with pronounced disdain.

"What for?" asked Sayid.

"For his own glorification, I reckon'. It's not like we haven't outperformed every other department. But he insists he's gotta motivate us."

Sayid laughed. "I will return by then."

Hank stepped out of the doorway. Sayid hurried to the conference room where he discovered the only blonde haired, blue eyed girl he could think would be looking for him, but he was still surprised.

"What are you doing here, Claire?" he asked, giving her a quick hug.

"I got a new job," she said.

"Here in Irvine?"

"No, silly, in Sydney. But it's a consulting firm and companies in the U.S. hire us sometimes. I don't usually travel myself, because of my son, but when I heard they were sending someone to L.A., I volunteered for the trip. Aaron's with my sister in Australia. So it's just me."

"It is wonderful to see you in person. I have not seen you since my wedding reception ten months ago."

He pulled out a chair for her to sit in, and then he sat next to her. "So what do you do?"

"I fire people," she said cheerfully.

His smile faded. "You do what?"

"I fire people," she said. "It's called _efficiency consulting_. Sounds fetching, doesn't it?" She winked at him, feigning more confidence than she felt. "Basically, companies hire us so they won't have to do it themselves."

Sayid frowned. "Are you here to fire me?"

She laughed. "Good God, no, Sayid. My firm wouldn't bother with this little telecommunications outfit. I'm going to hit one of the big businesses in L.A., starting tomorrow. I've got today off."

"You sound…you sound considerably upbeat about crushing people's livelihoods."

"Well I'm not," she confessed, shaking her head. "It's a horrible business, but someone has to do it, and at least I can do it kindly. I don't know how long I can stand it; sometimes I think I feel worse than the people I'm firing. But you wouldn't believe what they pay me to crush people. I might even be able to send Aaron to college one day."

They talked a little more about their relative positions, both laughing over the egregious salaries they managed to make for the work they did. He suggested they go to a local deli for lunch, and they continued the conversation there. Sayid ate while she sipped coffee. She asked how Nadia's pregnancy was fairing, and he answered optimistically.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back in his chair. "So, are you still footloose and fancy free?"

"Picking up the native idioms, are you?"

"I doubt that is native to Irvine. Are you _seeing_ anyone?" He emphasized the word to show he knew the English slang.

She nodded.

"Really? What is he like?"

"Brass. Crude. Always saying the wrong thing and failing to ingratiate himself."

Sayid laughed. "You could practically be describing Sawyer."

She looked down at the table. "That's because I am describing Sawyer."

Sayid balled up his napkin and tossed it in his empty sandwich container. He looked at her with disbelief. "This is almost as bad as Locke."

She pretended not to be bothered by his criticism. She raised a hand in exasperation, smiled, and said, "Again with the encouragement."

"How did this even happen?"

"We actually hung out for a few days together after your reception, at least when I could get away from Charlie. Nothing happened then, or anything, but I had fun. I figured I'd never see him again, but he got this big job in Dallas—can you imagine that, Sawyer, an honest business man?"

Sayid shook his head. The press they had received as survivors had opened doors for many of them, and closed doors for others, namely Kate, who was in jail at the moment.

"Anyway," said Claire, taking the lid off her coffee to sip it more easily, "his boss sent him to Australia for what he thought was going to be a business trip. And partly it was. But the other part included me firing him."

Sayid could barely respond, he was laughing so hard. "This is an unbelievable story," he choked out. "You had to fire him?"

"Yep." She took another sip of her coffee and put it down. "But, as I said, at least I can do it kindly. I found a good way to make the medicine go down."

Sayid didn't dare ask her what that way was.

"Hey," Claire said, trying to sound nonchalant while actually sounding a little defensive. "What can I say? He's sexy."

"Or so my wife tells me," he replied.

Claire raised her eyebrows in curiosity. "Well, don't worry," she said with a smile. "I'll take care of the competition for you."

Sayid called Nadia to see if she would mind having Claire over for dinner that evening. She agreed readily and the four of them enjoyed a feast of take out together. Nadia did not contribute much to the conversation, but she seemed to enjoy listening to the pair recall memories from the island as they all sat drinking coffee together, except for Sigh, who was watching _Beauty and the Beast_ for the forty-eighth time. He was going for a record.

When it was time for Sigh to be tucked into bed, Sayid said to his wife, "You had better bid farewell to Claire before you take him. She probably will not be here when you get back."

Nadia and Claire said their goodbyes and, when Nadia was out of earshot, Claire asked, "Why do I get the impression you are trying to get rid of me?"

"Uh…" What did he say? _Claire, it has been wonderful seeing you; I have not seen you in ten months and probably will not see you again for well over a year, but I really want to have sex with my wife now before she grows too tired, so please shove off. _

Claire laughed at his uneasy expression. "It's okay. It's okay. I know what those pregnancy hormones are like in the second trimester. For some women, anyway. But at least the nausea is usually gone, even if you don't get that crazy horniness kick. I mean, I was thinking about sex _all the time_."

"That is a lot of information, Claire."

"Are you blushing? I didn't think you blushed."

"And I did not think you talked openly about sex in front of married men."

"Well," she said, blushing herself, "now we each know something new about each other. Will you walk me to the door?"

By the time he reached the door, he had allowed his curiosity to overcome his reserve. He wasn't going to see her for a long time, anyway, so he might as well ask now before she walked out. Besides, he was a little worried about her uncharacteristic choice in beau. "So, you and Sawyer…are you…"

"Doing it?" she asked.

"Was that the elegant phrase I was searching for?"

She laughed and slapped him gently on the shoulder. But then she looked a little embarrassed and answered, "No. I probably would if he made the move, but he hasn't."

"Sawyer? We _are_ talking about Sawyer?"

"Yeah. He hasn't tried anything serious yet." She shrugged. "Go figure _that_ one out."

"So…what? He is taking you out to candlelit restaurants and for romantic strolls along the shore?" Sayid's disbelief was not veiled.

"No," she said, "He doesn't have any money for candlelit restaurants. He just finally found a new job. He starts next week in L.A., actually, so you might see him around."

"Really?"

"Yes, but he's only in L.A. three months at a time. Then he's in Sydney for three months. It's a back and forth kind of job for some international firm." She sighed. "Long distance relationship."

Sayid turned the doorknob and opened the door. "Well, keep me informed, because this is really quite fascinating…in a morbid sort of way."

She smiled that sweet Claire smile, like a little girl. "You can mock my choices all you want, Sayid, but I never asked what you saw in Shannon. Can't you just wish me well?"

He took her hand tenderly into his own. "I do wish you well, Claire. I have long wished you well." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I am sorry. You are like a little sister to me, and I cannot think that man is good enough for you. Good luck with all of your firings tomorrow," he said, "And have a safe trip home."

She gave his hand a little squeeze, and then she was out the door. Sayid waited for her to drive off before closing and locking the door. He hurried up the stairs and found Nadia brushing her hair at her vanity.

Sayid went into the master bathroom to brush his teeth. From there, he called to Nadia, "Come here a moment. I want to discuss something important with you."

When she entered curiously he pointed to the tube of toothpaste in his hand. "Now," he said, half-smiling, "an educated, intelligent woman such as yourself ought to understand that it is much more efficient to squeeze from the bottom. Why do you still insist on squeezing from the top?"

She let out a sigh of exasperation. "That is how I do it," she said and left.

"Senseless!" he called after her. "Pure laziness!"

From where she now sat on the bed, she yelled, "I like the top!"

"Very well," Sayid replied. "I will be certain to keep your preference in mind when I come to bed."

That was when the pillow came flying through the doorway and hit him with a thud. He rinsed off his toothbrush and carried the pillow back to the bed.

Later, after they had made love, she began to trace the outline of the muscles on his chest. His flesh was still hot and his body was still experiencing a slight shuddering. "Did you like that, Sayid?" she asked.

"Very much."

"Good," she said, and then she raised her head, her hair tickling his skin. She looked him directly in the eyes. "If you ever want anything quite like that in the future, then never again mention the proper way to squeeze toothpaste."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Sayid thought Nadia must be asleep, so he slithered out of his shirt and pants and slipped into bed as quietly as possible. He had been working late all week, but his supervisor had promised him some time off soon. He was looking forward to a few days alone with his family.

Nadia immediately turned and rested her head on his chest, snuggling into him. "Are you awake?" he asked.

"Halfway," she said.

They talked to each other intermittently in their native tongue. There were long pauses between their words; they were like two kids at a slumber party, drifting in and out of sleep, tired but not quite ready to surrender.

Sayid was just about out when he heard, "Do you want to come?"

"Come?"

"For the twenty week ultrasound. Thursday."

"Thursday? Yes. I'm sure Hank will give me the day off." He stroked her hair lazily. "Is that when we get to find out if it's a boy or a girl?" He was awake now. "Nadia?"

He had just about assumed she had fallen asleep when she murmured, "I want to be surprised. We will have to wait until it's born."

"_We?_ They could tell just me. I promise not to tell you. It would still be a surprise for you."

He felt rather than heard her as she chuckled lightly against his chest. "You will not be able to keep it from me."

"Of course I will. I can keep a secret."

"But," she said, lifting her head slowly to kiss his shoulder, "I will be able to see the truth in your eyes."

"I am a master at controlling my expression," he said.

Her laugh was more audible this time. She kissed him again, this time quickly on the lips. "Not with me, you're not. You know how well I can read you."

He sighed. It was the truth. Somehow Nadia had always known the deepest longings of his soul, even when she had been his prisoner. He did not know what gave such power to her vision. Was it her love for him? Or was it the love he had for her that made him so transparent? It did not matter. He was grateful to stand unmasked before the one he loved, to have a peaceful place to rest where games were not demanded, where disguise was unnecessary.

He pulled her close. "Then I wait," he said.

She smiled approvingly and rested her head again upon his chest. Her delicate fingers began to trail up and down his rib cage. "Have you thought about what name you would like if we have a girl?"

He had, as a matter of fact. He had thought that he would like to name his daughter after Shannon, as homage to the memory of one who had helped him to endure a difficult time, who had proved to him that he was still capable of love.

But Nadia most likely wanted an Arabic name and one with religious meaning. At any rate, he doubted she would want her only daughter to bear the name of her husband's dead girlfriend. It did not seem right to him to ask it of her.

"I have not thought much about it," he lied. "What would you like to name the child, if it's a boy?"

A long time passed before she answered. He was not sure if she were thinking, or if she had simply fallen asleep. When she finally spoke, she sounded uneasy. "I named Sigh after you. If we are blessed with a son, I…I would like to name him after Bashar. Would that bother you?"

"It would be fitting to honor your first husband in that way," he said. "He so honored me. Of course I would approve." He thought that now would probably be the best time to mention the name of Shannon, if he was ever going to mention it. But he remained silent.

"Thank you, Sayid," she whispered against his flesh. "I was thinking…if it's a girl…" She yawned. "I was thinking perhaps we could call her Adara, after my sister."

"Adara is a beautiful name."

"And for a middle name," she said, "we need not use Jazeem, as I did with Sigh. We could use Shannon. That is, if you wished." She felt his body twinge and asked, "Did I say the wrong thing?"

"No, no. You said the right thing." He drew her completely atop himself and kissed her deeply, tenderly. His lips broke from her mouth, and he kissed her cheek and whispered, "Adara Shannon. I like it very much." His hand trailed down her nightgown to its hem, which he began to draw up slowly.

"They sound lovely together," she said with another yawn. She covered his hands with hers and prevented him from pulling her nightgown up any farther. "I'm sorry, Sayid," she said, shifting off of him and laying her head again on his chest. "I'm very tired."

"I understand," he said. "I love you."

"I love you…" she murmured, and then he heard no more from her lips, but he felt her breathing even.

He rolled her gently on her side and pulled the blankets up to her shoulders, tucking them in tight around her. Then he slipped out of the bed and went to the bathroom. He removed his shorts and turned on the shower, opening only the cold tap before stepping inside. It wasn't cold enough.

Sayid awoke to the feeling of Nadia's fingers on his spine, a light tickling. Sleepily he reached behind himself and swatted her hand away. With one eye open, he saw the glaring red letters of the alarm clock: 6 a.m. "What are you doing?" he asked with annoyance. "We have an hour before the alarm goes off."

She huddled warmly against his back. He felt her lips tease his ears and then his neck; he felt her breath as she said, "I'm sorry for falling asleep last night. I'd like to make it up to you. But if you're too tired…" She shrugged and began to draw away from him.

"Wait," he said, turning and pulling her on top of himself. "I think you could manage to awaken me."

She pressed suggestively against him. He murmured his pleasure and closed his eyes for just a moment…just a moment…but the next thing he heard was the furious moan of the alarm. He rolled over, opened his eyes, and stared at the angry numbers: 7 a.m. He arose groggily and walked toward the sound of the running shower. Once in the bathroom, he turned on the sink and splashed cold water on his face.

He soon opened the shower curtain slightly and slipped in behind Nadia. She did not sense his presence at first; her eyes were closed and she was intent on feeling the warmth of the water as it splashed across her face. When she opened her eyes, his nearness startled her, and she jumped a little, slipping on the porcelain floor of the shower. He caught her and held her close, and then he kissed her.

"Can you make it up to me now?" he asked.

"No," she said. "You're the one who fell asleep this time. You're the one who must do penance."

"If I must." His hand trailed up her stomach and toward her chest slowly.

"But, Sayid, you will be late for work."

"I don't care."

She grabbed his hand and moved it to his side. "Then let's dry off and get in bed," she said urgently. "I hate shower sex. Someone is always left half in the cold."

He reached out for the faucet and turned it off abruptly. They climbed out of the shower and quickly toweled off before crawling under the warm, inviting blankets of the bed. They made love playfully at first, teasing one another, smiling, and sometimes even laughing, but soon their amusement turned to passion. When they lay together, spent and intertwined, they began to drift off to sleep.

A loud knocking on the door awoke them. "Mom! Dad!" Sigh called, "It's after 9:00. I'm already late for school."

When Sayid arrived over an hour late for work, his supervisor was, gratefully, nowhere in sight. But when he walked into his tiny office, Hank was there swiveling back and forth in his chair. "You're late," he said.

"Sorry," Sayid replied. "I had a thing…I had to do…for my wife."

Hank got out of Sayid's chair and motioned for him to sit down. Sayid put his coffee and a bagel on the desk and sat in the chair, waiting to see if he would be rebuked for his tardiness. Hank pointed to a stack of papers on his desk. "The big boss wants you to fill these out by Friday."

"What for?"

Hank shrugged. "Useless reports. But he thought now, when we're up against a big deadline, would be the best time to demand them. Sorry."

"But I need Thursday off. My wife is getting her ultrasound."

Hank looked down at the reports, and then he scrapped them off of Sayid's desk. "I'll have my secretary do them," he said. "And what she doesn't get done I'll do myself. You can have the day off."

"Thank you," Sayid replied as Hank began to walk out of his office.

His supervisor paused at the door, turned, and leaned against the door frame. "I know you hate this office work, Sayid. I'll try to get you back to hands-on tinkering as soon as possible."

"I would appreciate it."

"Would you and your wife and son like to join me and Nora for Christmas dinner?"

Sayid had just picked up a pencil and had begun working on some sketches. He looked up. "We do not celebrate Christmas."

"I know. But you do eat, right?" He glanced at the bagel and coffee.

"Yes, we do…"

"Good, because my wife makes an excellent ham." Hank began to walk out the door.

"Ummm…"

His supervisor stuck his head back in, and he was wearing a huge smile. "Just kidding, Sayid. No ham. Think about it. Let me know in a couple of weeks."

Sayid nodded and went back to work, but Hank still hadn't left. "I guess we have to serve dinner after sunset, huh?"

"Sunset? Why?"

"I thought you had to fast all month, from dawn to sunset," he said from the door.

"In December? No. Why?"

"Isn't it Ramadan?"

"That was in October this year."

"Then how come," Hank asked, "they're always talking about Christmas—Kwanza—Chanukah—Ramadan?"

Sayid shrugged. "Ignorance I guess."

"Or," said Hank, "maybe it's so Muslims won't feel oppressed at Christmas time."

Sayid really wanted to get back to work, but he did find himself smiling.

"Yes, yes," he said. "That tinseled pine tree in the lobby is quite oppressing me."

Sayid wondered what his supervisor did all day. Did he just stand in doorways and talk to people, or did he actually work from time to time? He supposed not many supervisors worked…most were never in the office but were always away on mystery meetings and luncheons, never answering their cell phones. At least Hank was around when people had a question, and at least he would answer immediately with a simple yes or no. Most people had to wait around hours, sometimes days, to get an answer out of a supervisor before they could proceed with their work.

Hank laughed heartily, gave his employee a mock salute, and said, "Have a good day, sir. I promise you I will not harass you for the rest of it."

Sayid nodded, but he did not believe his supervisor's idle vow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** It's nice to have a few readers for a show that's been off the air for a while! I hope you are enjoying, and I welcome your comments/reviews. If you like my fanfic, please check out the "real life" novels I've published under my penanme, **Molly Taggart**, at Amazon (**Off Target and Roots that Clutch**). Happy Reading!

**Chapter Four**

Two weeks later, Sayid had to tell Hank that he would not be joining him for Christmas dinner. Sawyer was going to be in L.A. from December through February, and Claire and Aaron were joining him for the week of Christmas. The couple had invited Sayid and Nadia to dinner.

"Sawyer's making Christmas dinner?" Sayid asked into the phone.

"No, of course not," said Claire. "I am. In that tiny apartment kitchen of his. Perhaps you had better eat before you come."

When Sayid called Hank, his supervisor said, "I understand. You got a better offer. But hey, invite your friends along too. The more the merrier. Nora loves to cook, and she's only got me to cook for."

Sayid said he did not think his friends would be particularly comfortable dining with strangers, but he promised to ask them. To his surprise, Claire leapt at the chance. She wasn't exactly a socialite, so he could only assume she was really terrified of having to cook. Hank's invitation let her off a rather painful hook.

When Christmas rolled around the following week, Sayid secured their next-door neighbor to babysit both Sigh and Aaron. He thought it would be better than dragging them along to an adult dinner party. When Claire and Sawyer arrived at their house, Aaron toddled right on in like he owned the place. Sigh looked at the boy with disappointment. Apparently he had expected a more able playmate for the evening.

Sayid was impressed to see that Sawyer was well-dressed, but he supposed an ex-confidence man must know how to look stylish, even if he usually chose not to. Yet Sawyer actually looked almost elegant; Sayid had expected the cowboy to appear slick even when well attired. That was when he realized what had caused the essential difference: Sawyer had gotten a haircut. The Southerner looked much more the gentleman with those well-cropped dirty blonde locks, although his self-assured smile still gave the old Sawyer away. Nevertheless, the man looked respectable, and Sayid did not fail to notice Nadia's approving glance.

As Sayid drove them all to Hank's house, he glimpsed Claire and Sawyer in the rearview mirror. They were casually holding hands and Sawyer was staring out the window, not really trying to be anybody.

When the four of them walked into the house together, Hank's wife Nora greeted them warmly and sat them in the living room. They made small talk for a time, until Hank arrived in the room. Sayid's supervisor immediately approached Nadia and told her what a pleasure it was to finally meet her.

"Introduce me to your friends," he said to Sayid, turning first to Claire. But then his eyes abruptly fell upon Sawyer, and his face contorted.

Sayid saw Sawyer's own face lose color, and he saw that cowboy-snarl cross his face as he looked away from Hank, but there was more than contempt on Sawyer's features; there was a strong hint of shame also.

"Get the hell out of my house," said Hank deliberately.

Nadia looked to Sayid, and Nora looked at Hank, but Sawyer only rose and said, "Come on, Claire," as he walked quickly to the door.

Claire glanced frantically at Sayid but trailed Sawyer out the door. Sayid and Nadia both sat speechless and frozen.

"Hank," said Nora in a tight, angry, tone. "Hank, what the hell was that?"

"Sayid," Hank said, leveling his gaze at his employee, "how do you happen to know the man who seduced my first wife and conned her out of her mother's inheritance?"

Sayid had never been so grateful for Nadia's touch as he was now, not since that day in solitary, when her hand had stolen over his hands. He squeezed back, but then he let go and said to Hank, "Let us speak privately." The two men went into a study together, and Sayid could only imagine what Nadia was saying to Nora.

When they exited the study some ten minutes later, Sayid was forcibly calm; but to Nadia he looked troubled. Nadia watched her husband reach for Nora's hand and listened as he thanked her for inviting them. He said he regretted that they would have to leave, and he wished her a Merry Christmas. He said nothing more to Hank. He only took Nadia's hand and led her to the door.

When they walked out, Claire was a block and a half away from the car, and Sawyer was fast on her heels, cursing and muttering, "Come on, Claire, would you just come back to the car?"

Nadia leaned against Sayid. "Are you going to have trouble with Hank from here on out?"

Sayid shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Things are…fine between us. It just would have been extremely awkward to stay, for all of us. And we have to drive these two back."

"I don't want anything to do with this," she said, watching the bickering couple. "You handle it. I'll be waiting in the car."

He nodded and then made his way after the pair. He was a few steps behind them when he saw Sawyer grab Claire's arm and pull her back towards him.

"Hey!" Sayid yelled,

Sawyer dropped her arm and scowled. "Well good thing you brought your boyfriend to defend you," he said to Claire. Then he turned on Sayid. "Thanks, Saladin, for putting me in that situation."

Sayid spit back, "I cannot be blamed for not knowing that you slept with his wife and stole her money."

Upon hearing this news, Claire glared at Sawyer. Sawyer rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Not _that_ wife, not the one with him now," he said, as though that should make a significant difference to her. "And you," he said, turning back to Sayid. "You've got some nerve judging me. Your past wasn't exactly morally pure either."

Sayid held up his hands. "I am not judging you. I am only saying, do not blame me for this awkward mess."

Sawyer's tongue flicked out across his lips and then he bit it and drew it back inside. He turned to Claire and began to talk to her as though Sayid were not right behind him. When he reached out this time, it was not to grab her, but to take her hand gently. "You know what I was, Claire. I told you all about that. We all got a second chance on that island, but none of us left it without the scars to remind us. When you left, you were still a single mother. And when I left, there were still people back home I'd wronged. Ain't nothing gonna change that."

Claire nodded. Sayid stepped back, turned, and headed for the car. He opened the driver's door and climbed in next to his wife. She put a hand on his knee, and he covered it with his own. "Are they coming?" she asked.

"Yes, soon I think. They're talking now."

He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Sawyer smirking and Claire smiling as they approached hand in hand. Sawyer actually opened the door for her. Why these routine acts of gentlemanly behavior should continue to surprise Sayid, he did not know. How else did he think the man had once seduced women? And yet now these small actions were disembodied from any goal other than kindness, and that was what seemed so out of character to Sayid.

Sawyer leaned forward and grabbed the head rest. "People change," he said to Sayid.

Sayid only nodded and started the ignition.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

As the car pulled away, Sawyer slapped his palms down on his legs, opened wide that toothy grin of his, and exclaimed, "What a very Merry Christmas! Peace on earth and good will towards men!"

When no one responded he leaned forward towards Nadia, and now without a hint of sarcasm, he said, "Mrs. Jarrah, I apologize for being responsible for putting you in what must have been an extremely uncomfortable position." And then he sat back.

"Call me Nadia, please," she said. "We all have things in our pasts we are ashamed of. Let us enjoy the present…such as it is."

"So what do we do now?" asked Claire. "That is, now that Sawyer has lost us our free dinner."

"Ain't you seen _A Christmas Story_?" Sawyer asked. "Don't you know there's always a Chinese restaurant open on Christmas Day?"

"Chinese?" asked Claire from behind them.

Sayid glanced at Nadia, unsure if she wanted to persist with the evening after everything that had happened. But she was nodding.

"Chinese," replied Sayid.

They had to drive for over an hour before they found an open restaurant, and by then they were famished. They were one of only three groups of customers, but the place was at least festively arrayed, and they ate heartily.

Sawyer did his best, during the meal, to ingratiate himself with Nadia. Nadia did not appear to be taken in by his charm, but she did seem to find his efforts amusing.

Sawyer insisted on paying for everyone, as penance for ruining Christmas dinner, and no one bothered to protest. "I'll get the coats," volunteered Sayid, heading over to the rack.

Claire followed him. "So what do you think?" she asked.

"Of what?"

"Of me and Sawyer."

He handed Claire her coat and then began to shrug into his own. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say what you believe."

"What? That he is not good enough for you?" He picked up Sawyer's coat and handed it to Claire.

"He's changed a lot, Sayid. We all have. You have too. But not in your disdain for him."

Sayid picked up Nadia's coat and draped it over his arm. "I do not disdain him. He has, I suppose, a handful of admirable qualities about him. But do not expect me to be fond of him."

"I'm not asking you to be fond of him. But he treats me well."

"Does he?" asked Sayid, grabbing Claire's scarf down from the shelf and handing it to her. "Is that how he was treating you when he grabbed your arm?"

"He was just trying to stop me to talk to me. You interpreted it incorrectly." When Sayid didn't reply, she asked, "Do you really think he treats me badly?"

"Well, at least he calls you by your real name. I noticed that. He never uses a nickname for you at all anymore, does he?"

"No."

"By Sawyer's standards, that is fairly impressive. I, however, am still Muhammad more than half the time." He stopped speaking as Nadia and Sawyer approached them. They had been laughing about something together, and Sayid thought Nadia's smile looked particularly beautiful. Perhaps he needed its warmth more than usual tonight.

He held out her coat for her and helped her into it. Claire handed Sawyer his. Nadia and Sawyer, once bundled up, walked ahead together towards the door to finish their conversation. Sayid and Claire lingered a few steps behind.

When Sawyer and Nadia reached the door, Sawyer began to open it for her, but then he noticed the mistletoe hanging above, and he pointed to it with a wry smile. "Mistletoe, my Arabian princess," he said.

Nadia looked up and laughed lightly. But when Sawyer leaned in to kiss her, Sayid prevented him by pushing his way between them. He grabbed Sawyer by the collar of his coat with one hand, pushed the door open with the other, and shoved him out.

Claire laughed as if to pretend that she thought Sayid was merely joking, but her voice tittered nervously. She shot Sayid the closest thing to a glare she had ever given him, and then she followed Sawyer out and let the door slam shut.

Sayid reached to push it open again, but Nadia grabbed his hand and held it still against the glass. "That was a childish thing to do," she said deliberately in Arabic, so that the other customers would not understand them. "You're acting like a jealous school boy."

"And you are acting like a fickle school girl, the way you have been flirting with him."

"Flirting? I was being friendly. They're _your_ friends. Would you like me to be indifferent?"

"Not indifferent," he said, wresting his hand out from under hers. Leaning close to her ear, he hissed, "But I had to wait eight years to kiss you, Nadia, and I'll be damned if that man is going to do it in less than eight hours." He impatiently pushed open the door and ushered her out.

[*]

Claire did her best to make light conversation on the way back to Sayid and Nadia's where Sawyer had left his car and Claire her son, but it was only she and Nadia who held up the dialogue. Sayid and Sawyer both sat in silence.

When they got inside the house and Nadia relieved the babysitter, a Jewish girl who did not mind watching the kids amuse themselves with their Christmas stash on Christmas day, she told Claire that, since Aaron was sound asleep, she was welcome to leave him overnight and pick him up in the morning. "Or, if you prefer to stay here, we also have a guest bedroom."

Claire glanced at Sawyer and Sawyer shrugged. "Your decision," he said.

Claire said she would like to stay the night, and Nadia suggested Sawyer stay an hour or so before driving back to his apartment. But then she asked Claire to join her upstairs while they peeked in on the kids, leaving Sawyer and Sayid uncomfortably alone together. Sayid suspected that she and Claire would not be down again anytime soon.

"A holly, jolly, Merry Christmas," muttered Sawyer, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking around the house. When Sayid didn't reply, Sawyer walked uninvited into the living room, took off his coat, threw it on the back of a chair, and sat down on the couch. He put his feet up on the coffee table and leaned back with an exaggerated sigh.

Sayid glanced up the staircase and wondered how difficult it was going to be to reconcile with Nadia once Sawyer was gone and Claire was asleep. They didn't fight often, and when they did, it was usually because of some minor infraction of his, about which she really didn't much care. Those squabbles had always ended quickly, and Nadia never held grudges. But tonight he had sensed a real anger coursing beneath her words.

He knew she thought he had behaved possessively, and although she was a woman who gave herself freely and completely, she was most certainly not a woman who allowed herself to be owned. For the way his actions must have appeared to her, he was regretful; but he was still displeased with the fact that she had rather looked like she was going to accept Sawyer's kiss.

"Do you want a beer?" he said when he finally came into the living room a few minutes after Sawyer.

"I thought you desert dwellers didn't drink."

Sayid walked on through the living room and threw his coat across a dining room chair. "We always keep alcohol on hand for the delight of our infidel guests," he said.

He came back with a bottle and Sawyer took it, opening the top with his bare hands. He cut himself in the process and wiped the little trickle of blood on his pants. He took one sip and grimaced. "Damn, Muhammad, this is skunked."

"It is what?"

"Skunked."

Sayid shook his head.

"It's gone bad. What, did you have it in and out of the fridge or something?"

Sayid shrugged. "Perhaps. It has been there for ages."

"Well, what are you drinking?"

"Cherry Kool-Aid."

Sawyer laughed. "No, really."

"Really," Sayid replied and brought the red liquid to his lips.

"I'd like me some of that."

Without a response, Sayid got up and returned with a cup of cherry Kool-Aid.

"You aren't going to pull a Jim Jones on me, are you?" Sawyer quipped. The reference was clearly lost on Sayid. So Sawyer just took the cup and inhaled deeply. "Ah…" he said, "sweet memories."

"Kool-Aid makes you think of your childhood?" Sayid asked, now putting his feet up on the coffee table also, even though he knew full well Nadia hated it when he did that.

"If it did, I wouldn't be calling the memories sweet," Sawyer said. "How 'bout you? Are your childhood memories sweet?"

"They are, actually," replied Sayid. "I was a boy when I first met Nadia."

"About your wife, Sayid, and the mistletoe…"

Sayid turned his searing eyes on Sawyer.

"Look, I was just kidding around, trying to put her at ease, make her like me so maybe she could put in a good word for me and you wouldn't despise me quite so openly."

"I do not despise you."

"Really? How often have you told Claire I'm not good enough for her?"

Sayid did not respond.

"She cares about your opinion, you know. It's not like it doesn't affect me." He smiled. "But at least she was on my side when you shoved me out that door. I mean, I was just going to give Nadia a little peck. Don't you think you overreacted?"

"No," he replied, taking another drought of Kool-Aid.

"Well, you're wife seems to think you did," said Sawyer with a defensive smirk. "Come on, what's a kiss? A kiss doesn't mean a damn thing."

"You only say that," said Sayid, draining the rest of his Kool-Aid, "because you have never kissed my wife." He swiveled the empty cup in his hand. "And you never will."

Sawyer grinned and raised both his hands, one still holding the cup, in a you-got-me posture. "I wasn't planning on trying it, Muhammad. I've got no designs on your harem. Well, except for Claire of course. You seem to act like she's yours, too."

"Excuse me?" Sayid's tone was unmistakably hard.

"Look, I'm just saying, if anyone's got cause to be pissed about whose acting lovey with who, then it's your wife, because you've been chummy with Claire since before we left the island."

"Nadia and I have discussed this. She is not bothered by my friendship."

Sawyer shrugged. "Look, Sayid, I'm not trying to make any special effort to irritate you."

"No. For you annoyance is essentially effortless."

Sawyer chuckled, sighed, and shook his head—every deflective move rolled into one. Then came the sarcasm. "Can't we all just get along?" The smile faded and Sawyer said seriously, "Look, for Claire's sake, let's be at peace, okay? I know we ain't gonna be buddies, but would you at least believe I'm not trying to seduce your wife?"

Sayid smiled despite himself. "I never said I thought you were trying to seduce my wife."

"Then what are you so riled up about?"

"You asked of her a liberty that…" Sayid sighed. How did he explain this? "That is to say, in her tradition-"

"Good, God, Ali, do you keep her locked up and force her to wear that damn head scarf so she won't take _liberties_ with men like me?"

Sayid did not realize he had been squeezing the paper cup that had once held his Kool-Aid until it collapsed violently in his hand. "She wears what she chooses to wear," he said cooly. "It is her desire to honor that tradition. It is neither my request nor my expectation, let alone my demand." He tossed the crumpled cup on the end table, took his feet down, and sat up. "I am sure this is difficult for you to understand, Sawyer, as you knew me as a secular man, and you have been sleeping with Claire all week long, but-"

"- I have? I wish somebody woulda told me. I might have enjoyed it more."

"She _is_ staying at your apartment."

"Yeah. In her own room. With Aaron." Sawyer laughed derisively. "How do you know that I'm not still waiting for the perfect moment?"

"I assumed-"

"- Exactly, Muhammed, you _assumed_. But even assuming we _are _doing it, which we very well may be when her kid isn't quite so close by, what the hell does that have to do with this conversation?"

"I realize a kiss likely means nothing to you, Sawyer, but it means a great deal to me where Nadia is concerned." He shook his head. "Perhaps…perhaps I overreacted." He did not entirely mean his own admission, but it was easier to make it and end the subject. "Peace," he said, extending his hand to Sawyer.

When the women descended the stairs, they saw the two men shaking hands, and both smiled.

"Claire's going to say goodbye to Sawyer," Nadia said, joining them, "and then she's going to bed."

"I'm exhausted," Claire agreed. "Have a good night, Nadia," she said, and then nodding at Sayid, "Good night."

When all had exchanged their farewells, and Nadia had extended a breakfast invitation to Sawyer for the following morning, Nadia turned and made her way up the stairs to give the couple some time alone together before Sawyer left. Sayid followed, glad to be free of Sawyer but reluctant to tangle with his wife.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** I have new release today in Kindle eBooks, available on Amazon. Check out _The Caterer's Husband_ by MOLLY TAGGART. The Kindle version of my novel _Roots that Clutch _is also on sale for just 99 cents 12/1-12/8. Roots that Clutch is also available in trade paperback, and the paperback is currently 29% off at Amazon.

**Chapter Six**

Nadia didn't say anything to him as she undressed for bed. She climbed just as wordlessly under the covers, but she left the bedside lamp on. He followed her example, silently undressing down to his boxers, and then he slipped into bed beside her. He reached out and took her hand, and she let him. Maybe this wasn't going to be so difficult after all, he thought. Maybe she had already forgiven him. But when he attempted to kiss her, he learned his hopes had been premature. She stopped his lips with the fingers of her other hand. "Are you sure you want to kiss a wanton woman, Sayid, who flirts so recklessly with your friends?"

"Nadia," he pleaded.

When her expression offered him no relief, he simply let go of her hand. Now he was growing a little perturbed himself. "Well, _would_ you have kissed him?"

"You mean if you had not grabbed him roughly by the collar and shoved him out the door? Perhaps."

"And you don't think I should be even a little bit angry about that?"

Nadia crossed her arms sullenly about her chest.

"Nadia, I was on fire for you every night of our courtship, and you never let me go any farther than a kiss. And now you want me to learn to take that lightly?"

Nadia colored. "It would not have been that kind of a kiss. That was completely different, and you know it."

"What would have been the difference? Explain it to me."

"All right," she said. "I would have kissed Sawyer like this…" She pecked him quickly and lightly on the lips. He barely felt the pressure, and it was certainly a long way from exciting. If anything, it felt like his little sister's kiss had, when he had been a boy.

"And when I kissed you, when we were courting, it was more like this…" She leaned in and kissed him deeply, suggestively.

He had enjoyed the privilege of making love to her for so long that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to be severely aroused by nothing more than her kiss. He had for over a year been able to expect that something more would follow, but he had no such expectations tonight.

When she finally pulled away from him, he replied, "Oh. Yes. I see the difference."

"Then you forgive me?" she asked.

"There is nothing to forgive. Forgive me, Nadia."

She kissed him again, this time allowing his tongue to penetrate her mouth. To his surprise and pleasure, she drew him down on top of herself.

"The baby," he murmured, as he shifted his weight off of her. "I don't want to-"

"Then choose another position." But almost as soon as she had invited him, she said, "Wait, I have a Christmas present for you," and she sat up.

He groaned at having the object of his desire so abruptly ripped from him. "We don't give one another Christmas presents," he said with frustration.

"I know," she replied. "But this year, since I knew we would be celebrating it with your friends, I thought I would buy something to give you later, privately. Something nice for me to wear…for you."

"To wear?" he asked in disbelief, thinking she could only mean some enticing piece of lingerie. Yet Nadia never wore lingerie. It was not that she was not creative in bed. She regularly took great care to excite and please him, but she simply did not have much interest in Western styles of seduction.

Sayid, on the other hand, had occasionally wondered what Nadia would like in such apparel. He had told her so once, and she had laughed as though she thought he had been joking. He had not broached the subject again.

Now, a new thought suddenly occurred to him. _They make maternity lingerie?_ He dared not ask the question.

"Do you want to see your Christmas present or not?"

"Very much so." He smiled when she slid off the bed, and he watched her disappear behind the bathroom door. He waited excitedly for a while, but when it seemed too long a time had passed (he did not know if it had been long, or if it was merely his anticipation that made it seem so), he arose and approached the door. "Nadia?" he asked.

"Sayid," she answered, and the fear and sorrow that intermingled in her voice made him shiver. He threw open the door and saw her standing, still dressed in her usual night clothes, gripping her sides. "Sayid," she said. "I'm bleeding."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note:** **FREE** _through 12/10/13 – my novella, _**The Caterer's Husband**_, on Amazon. Search for MOLLY TAGGART. Please leave a review on Amazon if you read and enjoy it. _**Roots that Clutch** _is also just 99 cents through 12/8. Get it before it goes back up to full price.

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Nadia clawed her way out of sleep. She sensed Sayid sitting in the hospital chair next to her, but she still felt too weak to speak. She listened to the muttering of his low voice as he prayed, and then she heard him start reading his Arabic Old Testament. Muslims did not regard it as an infallible text like the Koran, but she knew he read it anyway.

"Now therefore," he was reciting, "the sword will never depart from your house, because you have despised me…And Nathan said to David, Allah has put away your sin; you will not die. However, because your deeds have led the enemies of Allah to blaspheme, the child that is born to you will surely die."

When Nadia heard these words she began to weep silently, and she found the energy to speak. "Sayid, is the baby dead? Is our baby dead?"

He slammed the book shut, set it aside, and grasped her hand. He smoothed the hair back from her brow with his other free hand. "No, Nadia, no. They found the heart beat. The baby is alive. They do not yet know what is wrong, but they are…the…the baby is alive."

"Then why do you read such awful things?" she asked.

"I didn't know you were awake." The baby was indeed alive, but Sayid was, at present, not at all hopeful it would remain so. He who had not much worried about Nadia's pregnancy until now suddenly felt a great weight of fear press down on him, and with it came a queasy certainty that Allah was about to repay him for his past sins in the worst way possible.

He had been content too long; he had buried the past far behind his marriage; he had begun to believe he deserved his happiness. And now Allah was going to wake him up from this pleasant dream he had been living and parade before him the ugly sins he thought he had escaped. And Nadia would hate him for the curse that he had brought upon their house.

But he would not say such things to Nadia. He would put on a strong face for her, of course. He regretted that she had heard him read the passage.

"I'm thirsty," she muttered, and he brought a cup of water to her lips. "Where is Sigh?"

"Claire and Sawyer are watching him. He will be fine. You will be fine. The baby will be fine."

"You don't believe that," she said, and turned her tired eyes upon his face. "You think our child will die as punishment for your sins."

Sayid shuddered. How could she know that? How could she know his mind so intimately?

"The passage," she muttered, "you think you are like David."

What should he say? "Nadia, my love—"

"When will you let go?" she asked him almost angrily. "When will you let go of this self-loathing? Put your past behind you. Do not even remember it."

"How can I forget it?"

"By living for _today_. Do not disregard Allah's gifts. Do not doubt His generosity. I know this baby will be well. I _know_."

Sayid kissed her hand, her brow, her lips. He murmured her name repeatedly. "I want to believe you," he said, "I want to believe you."

"Mr. Jarrah," called a voice from the doorway, and a doctor stepped in. "I—" He saw that the patient was awake and began addressing himself to her. "Mrs. Jarrah, I am going to need your consent to perform an emergency C-section."

"But," said Nadia, "but the baby is only at twenty-three weeks old. I cannot possibly—"

The doctor then began to talk about Nadia's condition. To Sayid, the words seem to swim about in a sea of technical jargon, and they swept over him like a deafening wave. The only thing he really heard was, "Mrs. Jarrah, you need to understand that if we do not perform this C-section tonight, there is a very good chance you could die."

Nadia squeezed Sayid's hand and looked at him questioningly. "Nadia," he said, "you have to let them do it."

"I know," she said, but she was crying again. Silently, resolutely, and with control…but she was crying. Sayid felt the foreign dampness on his cheeks and realized with an odd, surprised kind of numbness that he was crying too.

While they wheeled her to the operating room, Sayid walked beside her. "Some premature babies have survived as young as twenty-two weeks," the doctor was saying. "It's rare, but it happens in about two percent of cases. I don't want to give you false hope, but this isn't necessarily an end either. At twenty-three weeks, the odds of survival are much higher, but still less than twenty percent. And if your baby does survive…" Here Sayid heard only "NICU," "days or weeks," and "possible permanent damage."

The lights in the hallway were too bright, he thought. The walls were too white. The halls reeked of too many antiseptic fumes. Nothing was right.

They went past the waiting room to cross to the other side of the hallway, and Sayid caught Sawyer out of the corner of his eye. The man rose from the chair where he'd been sitting, and Sayid thought he hadn't looked so haggard since the day he had returned from the raft. Had Claire sent him? When? Had he been in the waiting room all this time? Sayid caught his eye and half-nodded. It was the closest thing to gratitude he could express. Sawyer nodded back, let out a shaky breath, and watched them continue on.

**[**]**

Sayid rested his fingertips against the outer glass of the window looking in on the NICU. His daughter lay under a protective chamber where a machine was helping her to breathe until her lungs were strong enough to do the work on their own.

"Merry Christmas," said Sawyer from behind him. It was the third time he had said those words tonight, but it was the first time he had sounded sincere.

"It is not Christmas anymore," replied Sayid. "She was born at 11:59. It is almost two."

"Do uh…do uh…" Sawyer swallowed and forced the question out: "Do they think she's gonna live?"

Sayid had once said he wished for a little girl with her mother's eyes and her mother's courage. Well, Adara Shannon did not have her mother's eyes; she had Sayid's—deep and serious and yet distinctly tender. But she certainly had her mother's courage.

"She's a fighter," all the nurses had told him.

"She's a warrior, this one," the doctor had said.

"Yes," he answered Sawyer. "She is going to live."

"Claire told me to tell you that she'll stay at your house with Sigh for as long as you need. She quit that job, you know…firing people."

"I didn't know."

"Yeah. She just decided tonight. Anyway, she'll stay as long as you need. She's moving to L.A."

"Good," Sayid answered distractedly, looking back at his daughter.

Later, when Sayid was back by Nadia's side, he told her that he felt sure Adara was going to make it. She smiled weakly, but every so tenderly, at him. After he had bent to kiss her, just as he began to draw away, she whispered against his lips, "I told you I had a Christmas present for you."


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Sayid tossed his keys on the end table and sank wearily into the couch. From the loveseat on the other side of the living room, Sawyer and Claire glanced at him.

This time, Sawyer did not mask his uneasiness with sarcasm. "If you want me to leave, Sayid—"

"Stay. Sigh is asleep?"

"Yes," answered Claire.

"And where is Aaron sleeping?"

Claire swallowed hard. In a very timid voice she answered, "In the baby's room."

Sayid turned his tired eyes on her. "That's fine, Claire. That is fine. Adara will be sleeping there this time next week."

Claire smiled tentatively. "She's doing well? And Nadia?"

"Nadia will be discharged in two days. She demanded I get out of that hospital chair and come home for Sigh. How has he been handling things?"

"Like a trooper. But a very little one," she said.

He nodded, and his eyes began to close.

"You should get to bed," she said softly.

"Hmmm…." he murmured. "Sawyer's sleeping on the couch, yes?"

"Sure, Dad, as you wish," came the slow southern drawl.

Sayid smiled faintly. He pushed himself up from the chair and began to stumble toward the stairs. "Well, as long as you kids are under my roof…" And then he made his way to the inviting softness of his bed.

Sometime in the night, he awoke and reached for Nadia. Groggily he remembered where she was, and what he had been given. He said a quick prayer of thanksgiving. He did not even pray for Adara to survive. He knew she would.

He heard a creak on the stairs. He heard the guest bedroom door open and shut, a woman whisper, "Shhh…", and then he closed his eyes again.

He slept late into the morning because no one had roused him. When he came down the stairs, he saw Sigh on the couch, watching _Beauty and the Beast_ and eating chocolate chip pancakes. "Be glad your mother is not home," he said from behind the boy.

"Dad!" Sigh cried, and put his plate down on the table. He embraced Sayid, who returned him equal affection.

"Your mother is well, and you can come see your little sister with me later this morning."

"But school…"

"You are already late for that. You can skip today."

"Yes!" came the exclamation, and then the boy grabbed his plate and returned to the kitchen to beg Claire for more chocolate chip pancakes.

When Sayid entered and sat at the table, Sawyer was reading the paper. "Business section?" asked Sayid. "I thought you'd only be interested in Sports."

"Don't you know, Ali, I'm a business man now. I'm about to make vice president."

Sayid laughed, and then he realized Sawyer was serious. "But you've only been at that job for a few months."

Sawyer smiled, the dimples deepening in his cheeks. "Yeah, but I have quite the talent for sealing the deal and for finding ways to make people trust me."

"I imagine you do," said Sayid. "I imagine you do. If only you had put it to better use sooner."

"If only all of us hadn't needed a plane wreck to discover our virtues. Coffee?"

Sayid nodded.

"Claire," called Sawyer. She shot him a perturbed look.

"Is that your way of getting coffee for your friends? I have to feed Aaron."

Sawyer got the coffee himself and brought it to Sayid. "Listen, uh…" he said. "Claire's decided she's going to move in with me."

Sayid stared at him blankly. "Are you expecting some kind of response?" he asked at last.

Sawyer shrugged. "It's just until the wedding."

"What wedding?" Sayid sipped his coffee.

"Ours."

"We are getting married?" Sayid asked. "I know Claire used the f word about us just now, but I thought even that was a little hasty."

Sawyer laughed. "Well, well, Ali, you do have a sense of humor after all. Are you surprised?"

"At her accepting you? No. She has been irrational ever since she started dating you. But at your asking her? Yes."

"Hey," said Sawyer, "it could work."

"It had better."

Sawyer bowed his head in mock submission. "Anyway, Claire wants you in the wedding. She wants you to be my best man, if you're willing. I haven't got any…you know…friends."

"Whatever makes Claire happy," said Sayid with a shrug. He took another sip of the soothing coffee. If he and Nadia could have a Christmas baby over fourteen weeks ahead of schedule, then perhaps anything could happen. Perhaps even Sawyer and Claire could have a happy marriage.


End file.
